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• #STEVE MILLER BAND ROLL WITH IT PROFESSIONAL#

Between the band members, my family, the sound technicians, the groundskeeping crew, and assorted onlookers, there were maybe a few dozen people there-my third or fourth biggest crowd ever. Max, come up and play a solo.” He handed me his guitar. He walked up to the mic and kicked off “Fly Like an Eagle.” Halfway through the song, he spoke into the P.A., “Mr.

He said he was chasing a perfect high-end tone. Steve twist knobs on his amp for twelve minutes. The following afternoon, from the side of the stage, I watched Mr. Thirteen-year-old Max Marshall (background) and his eleven-year-old brother, Charlie, playing with Miller on their back porch the night they first met him, in 2007. Steve was my age, and then my parents made me go to bed.īut before I left, he extended an invitation: He was headlining the school centennial concert, which was being held on our football field the next day, and he asked if I wanted to watch the sound check. Before he rejoined the adults, he showed me a chord progression the great Texas blues musician T-Bone Walker had taught him when Mr. I didn’t realize it then, but I was crudely speaking the same vocabulary that he’d used to build his career. His grin widened, and he asked if I had two guitars I could bring outside.

#STEVE MILLER BAND ROLL WITH IT PROFESSIONAL#

“When I was your age,” he told us, “I was already a working musician! I wrote out professional contracts, and I paid my brother to drive us to gigs at frat parties.” Not to be one-upped, I told him my band had recorded four songs and was a fixture on the bar mitzvah circuit. We walked up, and he blew out smoke and grinned. Even though he was sixty-something years old, his hair was longer, featherier, more swooped and tangled than the dad cuts at the party. He was the one who looked the most at home with a cigar. We walked outside, and our parents tilted their heads toward the blazered man who could sign our CD copy of Greatest Hits 1974–78. We were bummed we couldn’t spot the famous guy mingling with everyone else, but after a few hours of gawking, my brother and I were allowed to come down and say good-night. Mark’s borrowed our yard for his welcome dinner. Mark’s fifty years before we did, and he was back to play its hundredth birthday concert. Steve Miller had attended the Dallas all-boys school St. The albums we owned either had a painting of Pegasus or a man in a Joker mask on the cover, and every male standing in our backyard looked like he worked in real estate development. We’d learned every Steve Miller Band classic rock hit from 93.3 The Bone, but we had no idea what the guy looked like. There was a grown-up party swirling around outside, but we couldn’t figure out which adult was the celebrity guest. One night in the spring of 2007, when I was thirteen, my little brother and I cupped our hands to our upstairs hallway window, looked through the cigar smoke in our backyard, and tried to find Steve Miller.